


Fading Stars and Piano Keys

by kiyala



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Community: pw_bigbang, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:10:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Convicted on smuggling charges but not found guilty for murder, Daryan has been in prison for five years. Now, he is finally free but must find his place in the real world, and needs to sort out his relationship with Klavier, who has withdrawn into himself ever since losing his brother and his lover within the same year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading Stars and Piano Keys

##    
_One._   


It’s been five years in this little cell and it never gets any easier. Sometimes, he lies awake all night, unable to shut his thoughts up. Sometimes, he wants to cry. Sometimes, he has nightmares.

He wakes up and something about today feels different. The realisation settles like a weight on him. That’s right. Today is the last day he lives. There’s an electric chair waiting for him, looming ahead of him like it takes up the entire room, the last room he’s ever going to be in. There’s a window, looking out to the spectator gallery. It’s empty, except for one person, standing right in front of the window.

Klavier.

He stands there, doing nothing, just staring. Daryan stares back and the silence between them drowns out all the other sound. The humming of the electric generator. The words of the official standing by the chair. Klavier watches and he doesn’t look away. Not when Daryan is strapped down to the chair. Not when the head piece is put on him. Not when the electricity runs through Daryan’s body, jolting him—

Jolting him awake. He breathes in, deep and hoarse, smelling the sweat drenching his shirt, the stagnant air of his cell. The sun is rising as he sits up in bed, like he always does. It’s been five years in this little cell and it never gets easier. Sometimes he loses track of time.

He wakes up and something about today feels different. He thinks hard, and it comes to him. Today is the last day he’ll be in here. Today is the day he’s let go.

When he walks out, he’s carrying the things he went in with. His shark ring, his handcuff bracelet, both of which he’ll probably never wear again. His shark jacket, which is now a little too big for him, with the weight he’s lost. At least the pants still fit, but they were skinny jeans to begin with.

There’s a car waiting for him outside. He doesn’t even need to think to recognise it, even if he’s never seen it before. With a heavy sigh, he gets into the back.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The old man beside him smiles patiently. He’s had variations of this argument with Daryan countless times already. He simply leans back in his seat and says, almost matter-of-factly, “You saved my son’s life, Mr. Crescend.”

 _Mr. Crescend_ feels like a slap in the face. Not Detective Crescend. Never again Detective Crescend. That’s a bridge Daryan had hated to see burned, but it’s his own stupid fault.

“My son wanted you to visit once you were out. Of course, you can stop at home first if you would like.”

Daryan considers it; he’s already arranged for his old place to be emptied, everything moved into storage so he can lie low at his sister’s place until he gets his feet back on the ground. Zoey’s fine with it, but her fiancé isn’t. It’s an argument he’d rather not have right now, so he shrugs. “Yeah, I’ll go see him.”

The mansion they pull up to is one of the biggest Daryan has ever seen. Standing at the door, waiting for them, is an old friend. Alexander Lazarus, the Chief Justice’s son.

“Xander,” he greets, stepping out of the car. It’s been five years since Xander has received treatment for his Incuritis. Even if it hadn’t been the one Daryan had tried and failed to smuggle that cured him, the case that surrounded it had attracted enough attention that the ban on exporting cocoons was petitioned to be lifted, though their export is still strictly monitored with the trademark Borginian paranoia. He looks perfectly healthy again, but it doesn’t stop Daryan from being a lot gentler than usual when they hug, slapping each other on the back.

“Piss off, man, I’m not gonna break,” Xander grins.

“It’s good to be the one visiting you for a change,” Daryan says. Of all the people to visit, Xander had come most often after his recovery. More than Zoey, busy with her own life, more than the other members of the Gavinners, who would drop by if they were down at the detention centre for work, and far more than Klavier, who hadn’t visited once in the past five years.

As though Xander can tell what Daryan’s thinking about, he says as casually as possible, “Saw Gavin the other day.”

“Yeah?” Daryan doesn’t even bother pretending not to care; Xander knows better.

“Don’t think you’d recognise him if you saw him. He got rid of the tan, cut his hair, and he’s just keeping to himself these days. It’s sad.”

 _It’s partially my fault_ , Daryan thinks. Maybe it’s egotistical to think that he’s played a major role in getting someone like Klavier fucking Gavin off the rails, but he knows it’s true. He’s just as bad as Kristoph. He lets that thought settle in his mind and he knows that his expression must show it. Unsurprisingly, Xander picks up on it, clapping him on the shoulder and though he says nothing, the look in his eyes is comforting.

“Come on inside, man. We’ll get you something to drink. Catch up a bit.”

Daryan nods wordlessly, following his friend inside and sinking into the large couch, reminding himself that he’s the one at fault here. He’s got no fucking right to feel sorry for himself.

They spend an hour or two, just drinking and catching up. Xander tells Daryan what’s been going on in the real world and Daryan talks about life in prison, everything he hated and will never miss.

Eventually, Xander clears his throat, his gaze fixed on his nearly-empty bottle of beer, and Daryan knows what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“Uh, so… are you going to talk to Klavier?”

Even though he anticipated it, Daryan feels his chest constrict. Doesn’t make the answer any easier to deal with. He shakes his head, just once. “Nah, man. He’s made it pretty damn clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me, right? I’ve given him enough shit as it is. The least I could do is know when to back off.”

Xander nods silently, but his expression makes it clear that he doesn’t like this idea.

Hell, Daryan hates it too. He just doesn’t have much of a choice.

 

•

 

Daryan lasts all of a week at Zoey’s place. He’s still got a lot of money left over from his previous careers, but she’s insistent about helping her brother get back on his feet. Still, he’s sick of feeling like he’s intruding. She’s wonderful—always has been—but he feels out of place here, and it doesn’t help that her fiancé treats Daryan like some kind of live wire, threatening to destroy everything around him at any given moment. Having the guy terrified to death of him had been entertaining for all of ten minutes and Daryan knows that he really needs to get out of here.

He finds a small house, nowhere near as big as his old place, but it’s good enough. It’s far away from where he used to live—far away from Klavier’s house, but Daryan doesn’t even know if he lives there any more—and it’s somewhere he can start new.

Xander’s father pulls a few strings, proving once again that he will do anything in his power to help the man who saved his son’s life. Daryan gets a job in an office, which is nothing exciting compared to his life as a detective by day and rock star by night, but it’s a major step up from doing nothing in a prison cell. It’s better if he eases his way back into the swing of things anyway.

He doesn’t miss being a detective—no doubt about it—but he misses music like mad. Geeter’s a comforting weight in his arms, but holding him it’s far too easy to let his mind wander to memories that are better left alone, of performing on stage, with Klavier…

He turns to the piano instead. He’s got a keyboard but he forks out the cash for a beaten up, second-hand upright piano and goes back to the basics. It’s completely different to what he’d used to play and it’s exactly what he needs.

The other three members of the band visit him, sometimes together, sometimes alone. Daryan loves it, even though it’s impossible to ignore Klavier’s absence. Trey, their keyboardist, encourages Daryan to play the piano. They all know their days of jam sessions are behind them, but the urge to perform is still there. Trey finds a place and Ike, their drummer, knows the owner. It’s just a little hole-in-the-wall bar with a small crowd, but that’s all Daryan needs. He goes in on Mondays and Fridays, playing whatever he wants. Covers, originals, it doesn’t matter; the patrons of the bar do their own thing and he does his.

He visits Kristoph, just once. Ike tells him that Klavier visits him every second Tuesday, so Daryan goes on a Saturday. Kristoph doesn’t look surprised to see him, and he definitely doesn’t look pleased. Not that they’ve ever really been happy to see each other. For the years that they’ve known each other through Klavier, they’ve only ever barely acted civil with each other for his sake. They’ve each always known too well that the other is terrible for Klavier. Daryan had noticed how close Klavier was to his brother and knew just how much Kristoph would end up hurting him, and apparently Kristoph had recognised the same in Daryan. From there, it had turned into a waiting game to see who would slip up first—a competition that Daryan had won, but he’d felt anything but victorious when Klavier fell apart at Kristoph’s first arrest. He doesn’t even want to imagine how bad it must have been the second time.

“Well, well. Look at you, Crescend,” Kristoph says, sounding very bored. “I’m in here and they’ve let you out. Funny, when we’re so alike.”

Daryan frowns. “Sat down and had a good read about everything you did. I’m nothing like you.”

“Of course not.” Kristoph smiles indulgently. “I suppose you’re here to boast?”

“Yeah,” Daryan says, shrugging one shoulder lazily. “I came all the way here, so I might as well, right? Surprised they haven’t put you down, yet.”

Something dangerous flashes in Kristoph’s eyes, but he simply takes a calming breath and smiles, sweet and fake. “Tell me, have you heard from my brother? He never mentions you, during his regular visits.”

It’s a low blow and Daryan’s been expecting it. It’s the only reason he can keep his expression blank and his voice even when he says, “Oh, I’m sure you’d love to know all the details of what exactly I’ve been doing with your brother since they let me out.”

Kristoph frowns, if only briefly, and Daryan considers that a victory. “Klavier wouldn’t even look at you if he passed you on the street. You aren’t doing anything with him.”

“Yeah, well,” Daryan takes a step closer to the bullet-proof glass, tapping it with his index finger and smirking, “now you’re thinking about it.”

Kristoph growls and Daryan leaves, the grin plastered to his face. He’d feel a lot better about himself if _he_ wasn’t thinking about it, too.

Xander checks on Daryan, because he’s the only one who knows about the visit to Kristoph. Daryan shrugs his questions off, not wanting to talk about Kristoph, not even wanting to think about Klavier, and Xander is a good friend because he knows when to change the subject.

They pass the afternoon playing video games and drinking until they’re too uncoordinated to play properly and too drunk to care. They eventually decide to stop playing and Daryan leans back in the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table with a loud sigh.

“Man, I fucking miss him, Xander.”

There’s no question of _who_. Xander makes a sympathetic sound at the back of his throat. “I don’t blame you, man. You were best friends. And…”

He waves his hand in the air a little vaguely, because even if Daryan and Klavier had never really admitted it to anyone, anyone who was good friends with them could tell that what they had went beyond the realm of simple friendship.

“What can I do about it? Fuck all.” Daryan sighs, staring at the ceiling. “Because I’m the one who screwed up.”

“Well, look at it this way,” Xander says with a shrug, “You can either decide that you’re sick of missing him and actually do something about it, or you just give up and let Klavier go, because at the moment, you’re not really helping anyone. Pining after him ain’t going to get anything done, Daryan.”

Were Xander anybody else, Daryan would chew him up and spit him out for this. They both know this, and they both know it’s a little difficult for Daryan to do that when Xander is treating him like his own personal saviour, and he’s the only real tie Daryan has to a life that he can never get back.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he finally says, rubbing his face with a hand. “Thanks, man. I’m glad you’re here—I can’t exactly say I’m thinking straight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t _be_ if it weren’t for you,” Xander says with a wry grin.

Daryan thinks to himself that even if he’d just been focusing on how fucking unfair the law was, back when he’d hatched the plan to smuggle the cocoon here, it’s one of the best decisions he’s ever made. They’d been friends, but never quite this close before. In prison, the thought of Xander getting better was the only thing Daryan really had to make him think that this was even remotely worth it. Now, he knows it definitely was.

 

•

 

##    
_Two._   


It’s an uncomfortably warm night. Klavier’s somewhere in the quieter part of town. _Somewhere_. It takes a lot of effort to bother paying attention to things around him. Most of the time, he doesn’t bother. He’s changed a lot over the years—he knows it without being told, but that’s never stopped anyone. Klavier knows that anybody with half a brain would be able to figure out that he’d slowly been changing since that one year he’d lost both his brother and best friend. It’s amazing how few people are left with half a brain.

He walks into a little hole-in-the-wall bar that he has never noticed the several other times he’s walked past it. It’s a curious string of events that bring him here—a short-lived career as a solo artist, which had been wildly successful but extremely lacking in satisfaction; several failed relationships, including a carefully secretive one with Apollo Justice. He’s a star who is beginning to fade, but of his own accord.

Klavier is not the kind of person to reminisce about what has passed. It’s a simple matter of self-preservation.

He’s made few public appearances outside of court and people have eventually forgotten him. With his hair cut short and skin no longer spray-tanned, he makes it even easier for them.

Sitting by himself with a bottle of beer, he takes a look around at the small establishment. He doesn’t even notice the piano until the people at the table in front of him get up and leave, giving him a clear view of the instrument. There’s a man hunched over it, clearly masculine despite the straight, shoulder-length hair that falls across his face. Now that Klavier knows to listen for it, he can hear the soft tune. It becomes clearer and louder as Klavier listens to it and the pianist is lost in the music he is playing, fingers moving gracefully over the keys. There is a quiet, but fierce passion behind the playing and Klavier feels his chest tighten with appreciation. It reminds him of his own times performing in front of others, playing with equally fierce passion, alongside—

He forces himself to stop thinking at that point, pushing the name and all the unbidden thoughts that follow out of his mind. He waits for the rush of emotions to pass so his head can clear once again. He fixes his gaze on his bottle of beer, but finds his attention gradually drawn back to the pianist. It is impossible to deny the attraction, or the feeling of familiarity and recognition. Just something between musicians, Klavier muses to himself. Something entirely one-sided—nothing more than Klavier reaching out to something he doesn’t want to admit he misses. A pianist in a forgotten corner of a no-name bar is nothing like a famous rock star on stage in front of hundreds of fans, but Klavier cannot stop watching, allowing his mind to fill in the blanks.

It’s already too late when he realises that it isn’t himself that he is projecting onto the pianist. From the very moment he begins to admit this to himself, his thoughts become panicked, gradually becoming louder at the same time as the music does. Crescendo. Klavier visibly shudders as thoughts run through him, the dam in his mind that has been holding them back finally broken.

 _Crescendo_ —the word still hangs in his mind when the music gradually becomes softer. Diminuendo.

 _Daryan_. Klavier thinks the name, loudly. He forms it silently with his lips. He feels overwhelmingly lonely, and relieved at the same time. It’s been five long years.

Daryan had always loved the irony of his last name. He’d taken to incorporating the symbol for crescendo in his signature. It wasn’t uncommon for him to sign things with Cresc.

Gradually increasing in volume. Daryan had been the loudest person Klavier had ever known—though he spares a thought for Apollo Justice with his Chords of Steel, who comes in a close second.

Klavier sits with his head in his hands as he allows himself to think every thought of Daryan Crescend he has done his best to block over the years. His mind reels as he hates, misses and loves the same man in the space of a few seconds. He thinks of getting himself another beer, but he hears the piano music coming to an end and doesn’t want to interrupt. Dramatic chords, gracefully executed trills. Once again, a crescendo. The final combination of notes is loud enough to fill the entire bar.

The pianist receives scattered applause, which he doesn’t even seem to notice. Klavier does not join in, frozen in place as he looks at the man sitting at the piano.

Hair thrown back, Klavier can finally see his face. If that alone isn’t enough, the man then takes a hair tie out of his pocket and pulls his black hair back into a shorter version of an extremely familiar ponytail.

 _Daryan_. Klavier doesn’t even realise he’s said it aloud until the man, close enough to hear, turns to him. It _is_ him and while his face remains expressionless, his eyes widen when he recognises Klavier.

Daryan, playing the piano in a no-name bar. It makes no sense. Neither of them move or look away from each other until the bartender walks over with a bottle of beer for Daryan. He takes it, hesitates, and then motions for another as he walks towards Klavier.

“…Hey.”

“Hello.”

Daryan sits slowly, looking unsure of himself. It’s a strange expression to see him wear. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“Neither did I.”

“You look different.”

“You cut your hair.”

“I’m serious, man. You look like shit.”

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

Daryan grimaces, looking away just in time to see the second bottle of beer arrive. He passes it to Klavier and they both drink in silence.

“Heard you were with that Forehead kid,” Daryan says, for lack of anything better to say.

“He’s not a _kid_ and I haven’t seen him outside of court for a year. Where did you hear that?”

“Ike told me.”

“You speak to him?”

“Yeah. Rest of the band too.”

Klavier looks at him in disbelief. His voice is quiet when he asks, “All of them? And not me?”

Daryan looks away with a shrug. “Difference between you and them is that _they_ didn’t start pretending like I didn’t exist. None of that ‘Daryan who?’ bullshit. They know what I did was shitty. _I_ know what I did was shitty. But we hang out when we can.”

“They never told me.”

Daryan nods a little. “Apparently you started holing yourself up at home.”

“They could have called. You could have called.”

“And said what? Oh, hey man. I know you hate my fuckin’ guts but I thought you’d like to know I’m outta prison now.”

Klavier frowns. Daryan’s voice has a bitter edge to it that he recognises all too well. Perhaps, years ago, he would have apologised, knowing full well that it was in no way his fault. Now, he says nothing.

“Well?” Daryan asks, his voice even. “Not telling me I’m wrong. Klavier I know would jump right up with objections. If you hate me, why are you still sitting here?”

“I am not the Klavier you knew,” comes the reply. Emphasis on _knew_. He’s trying to convince himself as much as Daryan, he knows this, but he doesn’t let himself hesitate. He gets to his feet, glances at Daryan and adds matter-of-factly, “And you are not the Daryan Crescend I once knew.”

He leaves without so much as a look backwards. He can feel Daryan’s eyes on his back, but he doesn’t dare turn around and meet them. He won’t do that to himself, not now.

He walks, and he keeps walking.

 

•

 

A week passes and every single day, Klavier is assaulted with memories of Daryan. He thinks of the good times—on stage, backstage after their performances, lazing on the couch, content with each other’s company—and of the bad—their arguments, so quick to escalate, Daryan knowing just the right thing to say to hurt Klavier—and all of it wears him down, makes him feel like his soul has been sucked out, empty and lonely.

He spares a moment to feel both proud and terrified of the way he’d compartmentalised all of this before, locking it away in the back of his mind and refusing to acknowledge it. He can’t do that now, not any more, because the thoughts refuse to fade. His mind won’t shut up and then somehow it’s Friday night again and in the past seven days, Klavier would be lucky if he could say he’s gotten even thirty hours of sleep.

 _You look like shit_ , his mind informs him as he stares blearily into the mirror. It sounds like Daryan and he’s too tired to try forcing the thoughts out of his head. He puts his jacket on and walks into the night, suddenly cold since last week; he can’t remember when the weather changed.

Daryan’s already at the piano by the time Klavier shuffles into the bar. He’s lost in the music and doesn’t look up when Klavier sits at the same table as before.

It’s comforting to know that Daryan hasn’t been able to escape the pull of music. It almost makes up for the times Klavier’s strumming his own guitar and starts thinking up a counter melody for a second guitar.

The piece Daryan’s playing tonight is one he’s written himself. Klavier knows, not because he’s heard it before, but because he recognises the style. There’s a pattern to it, the chords, the timing, the grouping of notes, that makes Klavier think of their old jam sessions. His only consolation is that if he’s dwelling on it, then Daryan is too and for a moment, Klavier feels a sudden, overwhelming ache to find some magical way to fix this, to make it all better again because he misses what they once were, as distant as it feels to him, now.

He sits there, his bottle of beer mostly untouched, as he listens to Daryan play. When the music stops, Klavier looks up briefly, and it’s just long enough for Daryan to catch his eye.

Klavier looks away, fixing his gaze on his bottle. Daryan sighs, sitting down a table over with his own drink, pushing the other chair out with his foot in obvious invitation. Klavier looks up at him and stands, leaving his bottle where it is. Daryan watches with a raised eyebrow and Klavier forces himself to look away, to turn and leave before he does something he might regret.

The thing is, he regrets walking away all the way through the next week. It eats away at him and Kristoph notices, when he goes to visit. Kristoph knows him so well that he probably even knows why he’s so distracted. Klavier tries not to dwell on the fact that his brother knows everything about him when he apparently knows nothing in return.

He asks himself why he forces himself through this. He hates these visits and it’s clear that Kristoph only humours him out of having very little else to do, yet he comes here regularly, the way he never had for Daryan. Kristoph has ruined so many lives, killed so many people, but Daryan…

He stops the thought there, horrified to think that he’s defending Daryan—to himself, of all people. It’s different. It has to be. Kristoph is family, and Daryan is only— _only_ the best friend he’s ever had, _only_ someone he’d loved with everything he had.

Klavier sighs, leaving the visitor’s room. This is why he’d pushed away all the thoughts of Daryan for so long. It’s far too easy to miss him, if he gives himself the chance.

He returns to the bar once again on the following Friday. He’s better rested this time, and actually makes an effort not to look like the wreck that he’s been for the past few years. He sits at the same table as always, his gaze fixed on Daryan the entire time he plays. The music’s beautiful and Klavier doesn’t even try to keep himself from tapping his fingers against the table top to keep track of the rhythm, thinking of all the ways he can add to it with an acoustic guitar. Piano with guitar had always been more of Klavier’s thing. He tries not to think of _Guitar’s Serenade_.

There’s scattered applause as always when Daryan stops playing and this time, Klavier joins in. Daryan turns in his seat—searching, Klavier realises with a sudden jolt, for him—and when their eyes meet, it’s Daryan who turns away first. He sits at a table by himself, not sparing Klavier a second glance.

 _This is it_. Klavier steels himself and gets up, taking his drink with him.

“Can I sit?”

Daryan looks up at him and shrugs. “Do whatever you want, man.”

Klavier sits with a frown and Daryan rolls his eyes. “Now there’s an expression I don’t miss.”

“I do hope you weren’t expecting me to be all smiles, Daryan.”

“Seriously, man? I was expecting absolutely _nothing_ from you. Considering that’s all I got so far.”

He sounds bitter, angry, and Klavier knows that he’s using this tone specifically to get a rise out of him. He forces himself to stay calm as he looks at Daryan.

“I can leave, if you’d prefer that.”

“Stay here, damn it.” Daryan scowls, clearly hating the fact that he’s asking. Klavier can understand how he feels. He hates the way they can’t stay away from each other, and he says as much.

Daryan chuckles, his expression darkening. This would be so easy if they just hated each other, but it’s a lot more complicated than that. They watch each other, silent and careful, the same way they did the first time they’d sized each other up for a fight.

Finally, Daryan speaks up. “Should I even bother inviting you over to my place?”

Klavier pauses for the briefest moment, recognising the tones their voices are taking, realising that they have a lot to talk about, and that it’s a very bad idea to do so in public. With a sigh, Klavier says, “If that was an invitation, then yes. Fine.”

Daryan smiles grimly, downing the rest of his bottle and getting up. “This way, man.”

“If you think I’m getting in a car with you—” Klavier begins, but he falls silent when Daryan looks over his shoulder at him, unimpressed.

“We’re walking. Think your diva feet can handle it?”

“Fuck you, Crescend,” Klavier mutters, pushing past him and out the door.

He walks down the path until Daryan whistles for his attention, jerking his head in the opposite direction. “Wrong way, Gavin. Think you could let me lead for once?”

“I hate you,” Klavier says savagely, even as he walks toward Daryan. “I _loathe_ you. You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daryan’s eyes—hurt, Klavier’s mind supplies, and it makes him feel like shit. But it’s not as bad as the fact that none of what he’d said is true.

 

•

 

##    
_Three._   


Daryan’s place isn’t exactly small, but it’s nothing compared to his old house. Klavier looks around in wonder at the simple black couch in front of the large television, expensive but nowhere near as flashy as Daryan’s tastes had once been.

Daryan clearly hasn’t lost his ability to know what Klavier’s thinking because his lips twist into a rueful smile. “Spend enough time surrounded by the same concrete walls and you start to realise that maybe you don’t need all this useless shit cluttering up the place.”

Klavier thinks that this is not something Kristoph would agree with—with each passing year he only decorates his cell even more, to the point where it almost looks like a proper living space. He shakes his head to dispel the thought and catches Daryan watching him carefully. He waits for Daryan to comment—because he _knows_ Klavier is thinking about his brother, he must—but Daryan simply turns away, hands in his pockets, and whistles.

Klavier’s about to ask, but he sees a black figure dart out of a room and jump onto the couch. It’s a kitten, its fur completely black except for a white patch on its forehead.

“Hey baby,” Daryan murmurs in a low voice that makes Klavier’s traitor mind wander to memories he’d been determinedly avoiding.

“…You have a cat,” Klavier says blankly, wincing at how awkward he sounds.

Thankfully, Daryan doesn’t insult either of their intelligence by giving him a stupid answer.

“Her name’s Sophie,” Daryan says, not seeming to notice. He smiles when she butts against the hand he reaches out to her. “Picked her up from the animal shelter just last week.”

“Well, aren’t you the good Samaritan.” Klavier means for his tone to be light-hearted, but what comes out is bitter and sarcastic.

Daryan stiffens, turning around with a scowl. “I know you got a problem with me, man, but if you’re gonna stand there and give me attitude when I’m _trying_ , then you can turn around right now.”

Klavier sighs tiredly. “This isn’t easy, Daryan.”

“I know.” Daryan walks into the kitchen, getting out the whiskey and pouring them both glasses. “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t—” Klavier stops, frowning as he tries to sort his thoughts out. “It’s not—I don’t hate you all the time.”

“Oh, well, if _that’s_ the case.” It’s Daryan’s turn to sound bitter, handing a glass to Klavier.

This is just the way they always were, Klavier thinks grimly. Quick to escalate into arguments, getting snappier at each other until one of them goes too far. They’d always made up in the end, of course, but looking at where they are now, Klavier can tell that they need to break this cycle. They need to figure out how to make this work, because as much as Klavier knows that he shouldn’t, he desperately wants for things to be fixed between them.

“Look at us. We’re a mess.” Klavier doesn’t even bother pretending there is no _us_ —there is no other way he can think of himself and Daryan, and if Klavier stops lying to himself for long enough, he knows that this is never going to change.

“Well, then fix it,” Daryan mutters, not meeting Klavier’s eyes. “You’re the one who likes everything all neat and ordered, right?”

“Of course. Leave it all to me,” Klavier snaps. “Because none of this matters to you at all, does it Daryan? That’s exactly why I’m here after you invited me, trying to hear you out because you can’t leave well enough alone.”

Daryan lets out a bark of laughter. It’s harsh against Klavier’s ears and his expression is angry and even worse. “ _I_ can’t leave this alone, man? Before you say shit like that, _you_ better remember that I ain’t the one who was just showing up to some shit hole bar every Friday for the past three weeks—”

“Why are you so angry?” Klavier interrupts. “What gives you any right? One moment you reach out, the next you’re acting like _I’m_ the one who turned around and—”

“Are you gonna hold that over my head for the rest of my fucking life?” Daryan’s voice wavers just a little, and he glares at Klavier, as if it’s his fault.

Klavier narrows his eyes and says in a frighteningly even voice, “You killed a man, Daryan.”

“They never proved that.” The denial is like a knee-jerk response, now, but it doesn’t stop his heart from racing when he has to say it to Klavier’s face.

“No. They didn’t. I know Alexander’s father pulled some strings—”

“Don’t bring Xander into this, man.”

“I have to, Daryan.” Klavier sighs, his shoulders slumping. “I have to, because I have to believe that you did it for him—that you wanted to save his life so badly that you _killed a man_ to do it. And I don’t care if you were charged for murder or not, we both know there’s blood on your hands. How am I ever going to ignore that?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daryan growls under his breath. “Then tell me why the fuck you’re here.”

Klavier knows Daryan well enough that he can identify every single emotion in his voice: the pain, the anger, the desperation, the guilt. He refuses to be swayed by it and shakes his head.

“Maybe I should leave.”

“You’re not fucking going anywhere until we sort this out.”

Sophie, concerned by the angry exchange, curls in on herself and lets out an inquisitive mewl. Daryan’s expression immediately eases and he reaches out, rubbing under the kitten’s chin. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Klavier looks away. “You know, I never thought you’d be the type for pets.”

“Always wanted a cat,” Daryan shrugs. “Never had the time when we were always busy with band stuff, but now…”

“What _have_ you been doing with yourself lately?” Klavier’s wondered this constantly and knows that he can easily find out on his own, but he wants to hear it from Daryan.

“Office work,” Daryan doesn’t lift his gaze from Sophie, who is purring contentedly now. “Just the standard shit. Just something to do so I don’t end up bored outta my skull. At least my cubicle’s a bit more interesting than a cell.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” Klavier frowns.

“Well, what am I gonna do? I doubt the police force wants me back—hell, I don’t think I even _want_ to go back, considering all the loopholes everywhere. And as for music…”

He doesn’t need to say any more, because Klavier already knows. Of _course_ Klavier knows; Daryan isn’t the only one who misses the band, who misses the thrill of creating and collaborating.

“There must be more,” Klavier says softly. Daryan snorts and turns away, shaking his head.

“You don’t get it, man. I lost _everything_.”

Klavier stiffens visibly and Daryan swears under his breath.

“Fuck, man, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t thinking, okay? I wasn’t thinking.”

“Every single time you forget to _think_ , I’m the one who ends up being hurt,” Klavier mutters. “Even after all this time…”

“What do you want me to say, man? I fucked up, and I’m sure as hell not gonna forget that any time soon.”

The thing is, Klavier knows _exactly_ what he wants to hear from Daryan; he’s been waiting to hear it since Daryan was first charged. All it takes is one simple _I’m sorry_ —for Daryan to get over his pride for long enough to apologise for what he knows he’s done to Klavier— _doing_ to Klavier every second they’re together now.

“If you don’t know what to say, then I’ve clearly been giving you far too much credit,” Klavier says, shaking his head. “If you still don’t know me well enough to know what I want to hear, then I can tell I’m wasting my time here.”

“What, so you’re just leaving?” Daryan asks incredulously. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Klavier repeats with a sigh. “Goodbye, Daryan. It’s taken me this long to finally say it to you—”

“I’m sorry,” Daryan says, cutting him off and folding his arms across his chest. His expression is angry, but Klavier can read the defensiveness in the way he holds himself, bracing for rejection. “That’s what you wanted to hear, ain’t it? I know I fucked up a lot of things and both our lives are at the top of that list. Yeah, I wasn’t thinking. I just—wanted to get that cocoon to Xander, alright? It was a fucking stupid law that was just letting him _die_ and I was going to do what I had to. I didn’t wanna kill LeTouse and if you think I’m ever gonna forget that look in his eyes… I would’ve done the same if it was you instead of Xander—fuck, you don’t even know how far I’d go if it was you—”

“Daryan.”

“Just forgive me, alright, Klavier? Just—don’t hate me. I don’t know what I’d do if you did.”

“I can’t just forgive you now,” Klavier says, and it’s by sheer force of will that he keeps his voice from shaking. Before Daryan can protest, he continues, “but I want to—I can’t even tell you how badly, Daryan. I’ll tell you now that it’s going to take time, but someday I know I will. I know I can promise you that.”

Daryan nods, knowing that even if it’s not what he wants to hear, it’s enough for now. “Thanks, man. I know I don’t exactly deserve it.”

“Then you’d better convince me that you actually do,” Klavier says simply.

“Right.” Daryan runs a hand through his hair. “Well, you know where to find me.”

“Yes I do.”

The door clicks shut behind Klavier when he leaves, but he doesn’t move from Daryan’s doorstep for a long moment, just leaning against the door, shoulders sagging, wishing that he could fix everything by sheer force of will.

He allows himself to imagine that perhaps Daryan is doing the same.

 

•

 

Daryan goes to visit Xander the next day. The Lazarus manor doesn’t seem as big and intimidating this time around, but Daryan supposes that this time around, he’s been in bigger places than a two-by-four.

Xander’s sprawled in a lounge chair around the back of the house in the sun with two drinks on the table beside him, clearly expecting him.

“So I hear you talked to Klavier last night,” he says by way of greeting.

Daryan sits down in the empty chair beside him. “Fine then, just steal all my news.”

“You’re not gonna ask me how I know?” Xander asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Klavier told you,” Daryan guesses. He grabs the unopened can of soft drink off the table and takes a long sip.

“Damn.” Xander doesn’t sound the least bit put out—in fact, he sounds impressed. “Has anyone ever told you that you two know each other way too well?”

“Used to hear it all the time,” Daryan replies with a grim smile. “Now? I’m not so sure.”

“Okay, so maybe you’ve both changed,” Xander says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He can’t deny it when the proof’s right there at the briefest glance, but still… “I still think there’s something there, right at the core, that’s still the same. I mean, you can still read each other like open books, so obviously there’s still _something_ about you that still somehow fits together.”

Daryan knows that it’s true because they had, the previous night. He just sighs and says, “I dunno, man,” because it’s much easier than saying that he desperately hopes Klavier hasn’t changed in the one way that matters to him most, that whatever they had before this entire mess still has a chance of surviving.

Xander, while not knowing Daryan as well as Klavier does, still knows when it’s a good time to keep his friend distracted.

“Right,” he announces, sitting up and turning to Daryan. “Today’s agenda: we’re gonna get some lunch and then we’re going out to get you a nicer piano than that beaten up thing sitting in your house. As a _thank you I’m still alive_ present, so don’t make that face at me. I’m sitting you down and making you write some new songs because I can tell you’re _itching_ for it. Then we’re grabbing some dinner and going clubbing. Got it?”

Daryan raises an eyebrow. “What did Klavier say to you?”

“Nothing. He just said to take care of you while he sorts himself out. I’m just doing that okay? Relax. Look, I owe it to you so just shut the fuck up and go with it.”

Daryan grins despite himself. He _knows_ that Xander’s continual praise for saving his life are going to his head, but it doesn’t stop his ego from swelling a little every time. Despite the five years in prison, despite the permanent mark against his name and whatever Klavier may think of him, he’s saved one of his best friends from what was thought to be certain death. No matter what else, he decides that this makes him kind of awesome.

“Alright,” he finally says, nodding. “But you’re buying the drinks.”

“Of course,” Xander grins.

They end up going to Daryan’s favourite restaurant for lunch, an Italian joint with the best wood-fired pizza in existence. The food is good enough that Daryan forgets, if only for a little while, to brood over Klavier.

The music store they go to keeps Daryan happily distracted too. He admires the guitars on display, sitting down with one and strumming. It’s been far too long since he’s sit down with Geeter and just appreciated the _music_ instead of thinking about what he’s lost, and Xander watches him with a bemused look.

“Thinking of getting back into playing the guitar?”

For a moment, the relaxed look in Daryan’s eyes disappears. “Definitely not in public. Don’t need a new guitar anyway—Geeter’s doing fine.”

“Pianos then,” Xander says quickly, turning to lead the way to the piano display.

“Look, man,” Daryan says, placing a hand on Xander’s shoulder. “Ain’t like I’ll just stop thinking about Klavier at the drop of a hat, alright? You’re doing everything you can to keep me nice and distracted and I appreciate that. If I could just make my brain shut up, I would, but I can’t. Not after I saw him last night and all I can do is replay the same goddamn conversation in my head over and over.”

Xander nods reluctantly. “For what it’s worth, I reckon Klavier will come around soon enough. I only spoke to him over the phone, but it’s the first time I’ve heard from him in a few years. I think the fact that he called me just to talk about you says enough.”

“We’ll see,” Daryan shrugs. “So, pianos then.”

They spend a good hour or two sitting at all the different pianos, playing together. Xander had been one of the founding members of the Gavinners, stepping down from being keyboardist when he started getting sick too frequently. He hadn’t been diagnosed with Incuritis until a good two years later, the first time Klavier was in Borginia.

It’s clear that Xander hasn’t let his skills diminish, though. He leads and Daryan follows, harmonising like it comes naturally. Daryan loses himself in this in a way he doesn’t at the old piano in the small bar; it isn’t the thrill of performing that gets him going, it’s the fact that he’s collaborating with someone else, building on each other’s ideas, the way he did in the band.

They change pianos between pieces and Daryan finds one that feels _right_ , the same way Geeter had the first time he’d picked it up.

“This one, man,” Daryan says and this time, he’s leading, playing one of the several things he’d made up in prison. Xander joins in easily and it’s the best one yet. There are a few murmurs of appreciation and Daryan looks over his shoulder, realising they’ve got a tiny audience of the other customers in the store. Xander catches his eye, grinning, and they both play twice as enthusiastically this time, showing off and soaking up the attention of their audience. Daryan builds up into a crescendo before the end and Xander lets out a whoop.

“Fuck, man, did you write that one? It sounds awesome. Imagine it with guitars.”

“Hell yeah,” Daryan grins. “Wrote it for Geeter to begin with, but it works on piano.”

“ _Everything_ works on piano,” Xander declares, getting up and walking over to the piano Daryan’s sitting at. “So this one, huh?”

“Look, you don’t have to—”

“I’m alive, Daryan, and if I hadn’t gotten that cure, I would’ve been dead four and a half years ago. It’s all because of you, alright? So if you tell me what I can’t do with my money one more time, I swear I’ll punch you out.”

Daryan huffs out a quiet laugh. “Try it, man. I bet I could take you down.”

“Shut up,” Xander motions for the staff and points at the piano. “This one. If this idiot here tries to pay, cut his fucking card up.”

“Screw you, Xander.”

“You’re welcome, Daryan.”

“Feh,” Daryan turns back to the piano and allows himself to grin, running his fingers across the keys. “You rock.”

They move Daryan’s old, worn piano into the storage container that he still hasn’t moved everything out of, deciding it can live there until he knows what to do with it. The new piano takes its place and Sophie investigates, sniffing at it and climbing over it until she apparently gives her approval, curling up on top of it.

Daryan feels more alive than he has in a long time, and it gives him the courage to take Geeter out of the case, letting Xander sit at the piano so they can rework the piece they’d played before.

They’re having so much fun that Daryan barely wants to go out clubbing later, but it’s been a very long time since he’s been, so they go anyway. The public doesn’t recognise Daryan Crescend very much; there are newer, younger, more popular rock stars now and even if they do remember him, they don’t recognise him without the usual hair and costume. They settle at the bar for a few rounds of drinks before Daryan leads the way onto the dance floor.

Back when Daryan and Klavier had gone out, at the height of their musical careers, the girls would flock to them the moment they stepped onto the dance floor. Daryan doesn’t expect it to happen now, but they get the attention of a few girls anyway. Not that Daryan is particularly surprised; he _knows_ that he and Xander and both good-looking. What does surprise him, though, is how desperately he misses Klavier with every girl that comes his way. They’re pretty, they’re friendly and they want him, but it’s not enough.

He tries to ignore it and succeeds, right up to the point where a blonde with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile introduces herself as Claire, and Daryan’s apologising, backing away, leaving the dance floor, leaving the club, with Xander calling after him in confusion.

“I can’t fucking do this, man,” he admits, once he’s stopped, sitting on the curb at the end of the street, and Xander’s caught up. “I can’t stop thinking about Klavier, even with the ladies all over me. It’s like some kind of _disease_.”

Xander pats him on the back. “Come on, it can’t be all that bad…”

“I’m in _love_ with him, Xander,” Daryan says, like it’s some terrible crime. “As if I even have any right to want him back this badly.”

“This… surprises you?” Xander raises an eyebrow. “I thought it was pretty obvious, actually.”

Daryan laughs bitterly. “No. It ain’t a surprise, but it fucking _hurts_ to know just how badly I need him back.”

“Well, then _get him_ back,” Xander declares. “Easier said than done, I know, but if you know what you want, then do everything you can to get it.”

Daryan snorts. “Fuck that shit. I’ve got nothing to prove. I _know_ what I’ve done, I know it’s shit, but in the end, you’re still alive. So fuck Klavier if that ain’t enough for him.”

Xander sighs heavily, but he doesn’t say anything. Daryan’s thankful, because he doesn’t know what to say. He knows that neither of them believe his words, but if Xander’s going to let him hold onto whatever pretence he can, Daryan isn’t one to complain.

“Look, let’s just go to my place,” Daryan says with a shrug. “My only plans for the rest of the night involve getting too drunk to think straight. I’ll deal with this shit later.”

“If you’re sure,” Xander says with a wan smile, and as they wait for a cab, Daryan thinks that if he doesn’t have Klavier, at least he’s got a good friend like this.

 

•

 

##    
_Four._   


Klavier shows up at the bar again the next Friday night. This time, he’s early and already sitting there as Daryan walks through the door. Daryan nods in greeting, stopping by Klavier’s table on his way to the piano.

“Eager today, eh?”

“Finished my work for today. I didn’t have anywhere else I needed to be,” Klavier replies casually. “Did you know that the bartender never actually knew that you were in the Gavinners?”

Daryan’s eyes widen, but he keeps his voice even. “What did you tell him?”

“Just told him there probably aren’t too many people running around with the name Daryan Crescend.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Daryan glances over at the bar and sure enough, Gary the bartender is utterly failing at being surreptitious as he looks in their direction. “Damn it, Gavin, you had no right. I was trying to make a fresh start here. I didn’t want anything from my old life here.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Klavier raises an eyebrow.

“Fuck you, man, we both know that’s different,” Daryan growls, running a hand through his hair and letting out an agitated sigh. “I have to go play.”

He sits at the piano. He has never been gladder to have his back turned to the rest of the room. He plays aggressively, banging on the keys a little too hard, but if it releases all of his irritation by the time he’s done and is facing Klavier again, he isn’t particularly inclined to feel bad about it.

“Stress release,” Klavier says when Daryan’s done and they’re both walking the same path they had last week, to his house. “That’s what the piano is to you, isn’t it?”

Daryan shrugs one shoulder, hands in his pockets. “That’s part of it. It ain’t just one thing, you know.”

Sophie greets them as Daryan leads the way inside, waiting until she gets her chin scratches before she returns to the top of the piano.

Klavier’s gaze follows her and he lets out an appreciative hum as he takes in the sleek, polished wood of the new piano. Then his breath hitches, and Daryan knows that he’s noticed Geeter, propped up in its stand, right beside the piano.

“Playing guitar again, Daryan?” he asks, and the way he manages to keep his tone only vaguely curious is downright impressive.

“Yeah. Xander came around the other day and we played together a bit. It felt ridiculously good to be holding Geeter again. Didn’t see the point of stopping again.”

“You played with Xander?” Klavier can’t keep the sudden jolt of jealousy out of his voice. “Gavinners songs?”

“Our own stuff,” Daryan frowns. “Got a problem with it? It’s been ages since either of us played anything together, so we did. You really don’t need to get your panties in a twist over it, man.”

“Maybe I just don’t like the thought of you playing with other people,” Klavier mutters.

“Oh, fucking hell, man, don’t start acting like a diva on me again. I really don’t think I can stand it.” Daryan walks to the kitchen, looking for alcohol. “Was I supposed to somehow just _know_ you wanted to jam? Because honestly, I can’t even imagine it going well. Not when we’ve got this much shit to sort out.”

Klavier sighs heavily, about to reply when something catches his eye. There’s a small stack of CD cases and he knows them all too well, but he finds himself asking, “What is this?”

Daryan sticks his head out of the kitchen, still mixing drinks, and snorts. “Right, those. Heard from Xander you went solo for a while after the Gavinners were finished. He told me you were pretty damn successful.”

“And?” Klavier asks, dreading the answer. He’d thought about it a lot when writing and recording his songs, hyperaware of the fact that anything he released, Daryan would later hear. It had kept him awake so often back then, but he’d forgotten all about it until now. Now, the dread and anxiety return in full force, much worse than it had been when they’d been in the band and he was just asking for Daryan’s opinion on a demo. Then, it had been something that they were going to collaborate on. Now, it’s the equivalent of Daryan pulling him apart and looking at his very core.

“I didn’t like any of it,” Daryan says simply, and it’s nowhere near as bad as all the things Klavier had imagined—when he was writing the songs, after he’d released them—but somehow, it ends up hurting all the same. Daryan returns from the kitchen carrying two bottles of beer. “I’m disappointed, man. I know you can do better than that.”

“What, were you expecting a new and improved version of The Gavinners?” Klavier asks, grabbing his bottle and taking a long sip. “People _change_ , Daryan. Music changes.”

“Fuck if I don’t know that,” Daryan rolls his eyes. “I’m not complaining about it being _different_ , Klavier, I just said you can do better.”

“Do you think so?” Klavier asks, and he sounds angry. “Do you think that _you_ could have done any better? Especially considering where my head was at the time?”

“Never said that. Wouldn’t want to, at any rate. I really don’t think I’ll be getting back into the music industry in a hurry.”

“Then why are you even writing new songs with Xander? Why the new piano? Why bother? What are you going to do with yourself, Daryan?”

“Fuck off man, I already told you I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Get back into law enforcement,” Klavier says, and Daryan snorts.

“ _Fuck_ no.”

“Just hear me out, Daryan—”

“I already told you man, I’m not going to work for something that’s so damn flawed.”

“Then why don’t you work to fix it?” Klavier asks. “Tell me, do you know who Phoenix Wright is?”

“’Course I do. He’s the guy you were up against for the first case you were ever a prosecutor for.” Daryan licks his lips, pausing a beat before continuing, “One of the lives your brother destroyed. He’s the one who made sure everyone knew exactly what he did.”

“That’s the one,” Klavier nods, carefully neutral. “He’s been working on changing the legal system, to get rid of all of these loopholes that criminals keep taking advantage of.”

“Like me,” Daryan says.

Klavier shrugs. “Well. You said the loopholes were pissing you off.”

“Right. So what’s he doing?”

“You remember Apollo Justice, I’m sure. He works under Phoenix Wright, now, with a few others. They’re developing new techniques for the court room. Kristoph was the first defendant to be trialled under the Jurist system. I… worked with them for a while. Back when Apollo and I—”

“Right.” Daryan cuts him off.

Klavier smiles, both cautious and amused. “I was thinking that perhaps I’ll find out if I can help them further. I know you said the police force won’t let you back, but you’ve only been charged for smuggling, not murder.”

“You think that’s going to matter?”

“Listen to me. If you’d have some way of helping Wright continue his work on the legal system as a detective, I’m sure we’d find a way to get you back onto the force. Besides, failing that, I’m sure Xander’s father wouldn’t hesitate to pull some strings and help you out.”

Daryan scowls. “Fuck you, man. If you think that’s how I plan on cruising through life—”

“I’m not saying that, Daryan. I’m telling you to let him help you get your life back the way you want it.” Klavier sighs, “Let me help you. I’m going to visit Wright’s office tomorrow to talk to him. Come with me, so we can see what you can do.”

“Forget it,” Daryan shakes his head. “Go by yourself.”

“Daryan…” Klavier looks dismayed. Daryan hardens his expression and shakes his head.

“Look, I’ll sort my own shit out. I don’t need you holding my hand through it.”

“Your fucking pride—” Klavier begins, then cuts himself off, shaking his head. “No. Forget it. I should have known it would go this way. _Idiot_.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Daryan agrees, and pretends he doesn’t feel bad about the disgusted look Klavier gives him before he turns around and leaves.

 

•

 

On Monday, when Klavier’s busy at work, Daryan takes the day off and finds the Wright & Co. office. He enters the building, to find himself promptly face to face with Trucy Wright. He recognises her immediately, despite the age difference, but she doesn’t seem to recognise him.

“Hey,” he greets, already feeling awkward. “Is Phoenix Wright free?”

“He’s in a meeting right now,” another voice speaks up, “he should be free in—hooly shit, you’re Daryan Crescend.”

“And you’re Apollo Justice,” Daryan replies, trying not to let his amusement show. “Still with the sleeves, I see.”

Apollo tugs at one of his folded sleeves self-consciously. “What do you want to see Mr. Wright for?”

“Ain’t exactly any of your business now, is it?”

His words would have cowed the Apollo Justice that he’d once known, but the man before him simply raises an eyebrow at him. Daryan doesn’t know whether to be unsettled or impressed.

“I… uh. Klavier said something to me, about fixing the legal system or something.”

“Oh, Klavier’s actually talking to you,” Apollo says with such obvious surprise that Daryan has absolutely no trouble remembering why he’d disliked him so much from the beginning. “That’s good of him. You’d better not screw up this time.”

Daryan barks out a harsh laugh, folding his arms across his chest. “Is that a threat, Justice? Ain’t gonna tack an _or else_ at the end of that?”

Apollo simply sighs, looking Daryan square in the eyes. “ _Or else_ Klavier won’t be able to handle it all over again. Happy?”

Daryan doesn’t know how to reply to that. Thankfully, he is saved from having to when the door to Wright’s office opens. Daryan looks up as two men walk out; one, he recognises easily as Phoenix Wright, with the blue suit and gelled hair but the other takes him a little longer, but then it finally hits him.

“Miles Edgeworth.”

“Professor Edgeworth now,” Wright corrects, giving Daryan a bemused look. “Mr. Crescend, I was expecting you.”

“Klavier spoke to you,” Daryan realises, not sure whether to be relieved to have the explaining done for him or annoyed that Klavier had done this without even mentioning it to him.

“He cares about you, and he’s worried about you,” Wright says matter-of-factly. He glances at Edgeworth briefly before continuing, “You aren’t exactly in the best of places and he’s doing what he can to make sure you don’t stay there for long. There are worse things you can do than admit you need his help.”

“It’s a pride thing,” Edgeworth declares and then indicates Wright’s office with a nod of his head. “Shall we discuss this in further detail in your office, Phoenix?”

“Wait, why am I talking to you too?” Daryan frowns in confusion.

“I’m not sure what Klavier told you, but my work improving the legal system is nothing without Edgeworth’s help, here.” Wright shuts the door behind him and indicates a chair for Daryan. “You probably knew him as a prosecutor, but he teaches Criminal Law at Ivy University now. He’s well-respected in the field and—”

“Wright takes advantage of it at every opportunity he gets,” Edgeworth finishes simply, the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “This is a problem we need to attack from all sides and if Klavier Gavin thinks you’ll be useful to us from within the police force…”

“We’ve dealt with a lot of corrupt police,” Wright says with a heavy sigh. “It _would_ be good to have someone on our side for once.”

“Assuming you aren’t—distracted,” Edgeworth levels Daryan with a stern look over the top of his glasses. “Regardless of the circumstances, you _do_ have a criminal record, now. You may want to consider what this means in terms of how much we’re going to trust you.”

“As far as you can kick me,” Daryan nods. “Fine.”

Edgeworth nods once, and then glances at Wright. “I need to go back to my office.”

“I’ll see you later,” Wright says with a warm look in his eyes as he walks him out. He turns back to Daryan once they’re alone in his office again, giving him a friendly grin. “Don’t worry about Edgeworth. He’s harsh on people who break the law. Comes from being a prosecutor for so long—he still gives me shit for what I’ve done.”

“You?” Daryan raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s just say,” Wright leans back in his chair, “I didn’t deserve to lose my badge when Kristoph Gavin set me up to fall, but having nothing to lose makes you reckless. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? I wanted to take Gavin down so badly that I didn’t mind putting Apollo’s career at risk to do it. You wanted to save Henry Lazarus’ son to the point where you ended up with blood on your hands. You went a little further than I did. Just barely.”

Daryan whistles low. “I’m guessing Klavier doesn’t know any of that. Or your little protégé out there.”

Wright smiles. “I’ll talk to Lazarus. See what we can do about getting you your position as detective back. You might be under probation, but—”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“That’s what I thought.”

It takes a couple of phone calls and a few hours, and a burly detective shows up at the office.

“Hey pal, long time no see!” he greets Wright as they shake hands.

“Thanks for coming here on such short notice, Gumshoe. This is Daryan Crescend.”

“Right, I remember you.” Gumshoe’s been with the police department for a long time. “Lazarus said you risked everything to help his son get a cure for his Incuritis.”

“I wish he wouldn’t talk me up like that,” Daryan mutters. Never mind that he never seems to mind so much when it’s Xander. “You can’t make five years in prison sound glamorous.”

“Well,” Gumshoe coughs a little awkwardly. “I’ll be supervising you for now, to make sure you behave yourself. I’ll stay out of your way and make sure you get your work done properly. Three months of good behaviour and you won’t need me tagging around everywhere.”

“Fair enough. That sounds reasonable. Thank you, sir.”

Gumshoe beams, clapping Daryan on the shoulder. “Welcome back, Detective Crescend.”

 

•

 

##    
_Five._   


Klavier wakes up with the strong urge to roll over and stay right where he is for another week. Kristoph is being executed tomorrow. It’s been the first thing on his mind for months now, counting down the days, long past the denial and waiting to be told it’s just a joke, but not quite ready to accept the reality just yet. He doubts he ever will be.

He sits up reluctantly, dragging his limbs as if his movements will make time proceed slower. He hears the scrabbling of paws against the polished floor, followed by a lapful of dog. He’s taken care of Vongole since Kristoph had first been arrested and even though Klavier usually thinks of her as _his_ dog, not his brother’s, the thought is difficult for him today.

He goes to the prosecutors’ office, sorting through his files dispassionately before heading down to the detention centre. The entire administration staff there know him by now. They know he’s here to see Kristoph and he doesn’t meet their eyes, not wanting to see their pity.

Instead of being taken to the visiting room, Klavier is led directly to Kristoph’s cell. He doubts it’s protocol, but then Kristoph’s cell is decorated with little comforts and he’s sitting in a comfortable chair, drinking tea and reading the newspaper, as if he’s at home. Klavier has reached the point where he doesn’t even bother to wonder how many people Kristoph has managed to coerce into running errands for him.

“Fix your posture,” Kristoph mutters in the place of a greeting. “Does anybody talk you seriously in court when you slouch like that?”

Klavier smiles wearily, standing a little straighter. “Hey, brother. How are you?”

“I’m alive,” Kristoph replies calmly. “For now.”

Klavier cringes, his fingers curling around the steel bars in front of him. “I…”

“You’re here because you feel like you’re obligated to visit me one last time before they lead me out to the electric chair tomorrow,” Kristoph says and then shrugs. “If you think it will make you feel better, then by all means, talk to me. Just bear in mind that I’ve never been very strongly inclined to say things just because you’d like to hear them.”

Klavier sighs heavily. “I just want to ask you some questions.”

“Allow me to guess. You want to know why I did what I have.”

“I want to know if I could have noticed earlier,” Klavier says. “If I had any chance of realising that you needed help—”

“Why do you ask? Do you truly want to dwell in guilt if I say yes? If I tell you that all this time, I’ve just been _reaching out to you, Klavier_ …”

“Just answer the question,” Klavier says through clenched teeth. “Was there any chance I could have noticed?”

“None at all,” Kristoph smiles. “I was very careful, Klavier. That’s how I’ve gotten away with so much.”

Klavier knows, without a shadow of doubt, that there is more that Kristoph has done—for who knows how long—that he’s never been caught for. He knows better than to try and think of what these may be, because he’d done it once and found himself unable to sleep.

“Anything else you would like to ask?” Kristoph prompts, sounding patient and not lifting his gaze from the paper in his hands.

“Just one thing,” Klavier says, hesitating, because he’s sure he knows the answer to this but he wants to hear it from Kristoph himself. “Tell me. Do you ever regret anything you’ve done?”

Kristoph gives him a pitying look, which is far worse than receiving one from anybody else. “Oh, Klavier. You know that I don’t. I never have, and even if I had the opportunity after tomorrow, I promise you that I never would.”

“I see,” Klavier nods once, his jaw set. “That is all, Kristoph. I’ll leave now.”

He turns to leave, and hears the rustle of Kristoph putting his paper down.

“Klavier,” he calls softly, “out of curiosity, do you think that your good friend Daryan regrets killing Romein LeTouse? If he found himself in the same situation again, facing this man with the threat of being caught for smuggling, do you really think he would do anything differently?”

Klavier freezes. He knows the answer to this; Daryan may as well have said it himself. He would have done anything to get the cocoon to Xander—that includes killing LeTouse again.

“Hm. I thought so.” Kristoph sounds so disgustingly smug that a surge of anger runs through Klavier. “He’s not all that different, is he?”

“Your circumstances were _completely_ different,” Klavier snaps, turning back around and glaring at his brother. “He was trying to help a friend. You killed people just because you _could_.”

“My, Klavier. I believe that when I saw you at the prosecutor’s bench, you would have said that a murderer was a murderer, regardless of why they killed.” His smile is cold and mocking. “Are you changing your beliefs now? Just to help yourself deal with the fact that you’re clearly in love with a _murderer_?”

Kristoph’s words are like a knife. Klavier clenches his fists, struggling to keep his expression blank.

“I’m leaving now, Kristoph.”

“Goodbye, little brother. Try not to miss me, hm?”

Klavier’s jaw tenses, but he turns away from Kristoph. He leaves, ignoring the looks of pity as he walks right past the receptionists’ desks and out of the detention centre, never looking back.

Only to come face to face with Daryan. He has his hair tied back in a ponytail and is wearing a plain white button-up shirt, black pants and a tie. There’s a gun holster at his hip and another detective—Gumshoe, Klavier recognises—right behind him.

“Uh. Hey.” Daryan greets, and then turns to Gumshoe. “Give me a sec. I’ll meet you inside.”

The moment they’re alone, Daryan touches Klavier’s shoulder, his grip tightening when Klavier flinches.

“You went to see Kristoph.” Daryan waits for a moment but when Klavier says nothing, he continues, “His execution is tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Klavier nods, unable to find anything to say. Daryan squeezes his shoulder, meant to reassure him but all Klavier can think of is Kristoph, comparing the two of them, pointing out the way Klavier’s own beliefs have rearranged themselves without him even noticing.

“Daryan—” he begins and his voice comes out as a croak. He doesn’t care; he’s impassive when he is with Kristoph because seeing him is so emotionally draining that he’s just left to feel numb, now. With Daryan, it’s an entirely different story. With Daryan, he can express himself exactly the way he needs to.

“Hey, hey,” Daryan places both his hands on Klavier’s shoulders, even more worried when he sees Klavier’s expression waver, somewhere between heartbreak and helplessness. “It’s alright. You’ll be fine, man, I promise. I’ll come tomorrow, you know I’ve got your back. I’m right here if you need me—”

“No,” Klavier says, his voice cracking over the word. “I don’t need you, Daryan. I’ve never needed you. Don’t give yourself so much credit.”

“Right. Fine. Sorry. Look, if you want—”

“What I want is for you to leave me alone. That is all.” Klavier shrugs Daryan’s hands off, side-stepping him. “I don’t need the sympathy of a murderer.”

“ _Klavier_ ,” Daryan protests.

Klavier ignores him, walking away while he still has the resolve, ignoring the way his entire being is crying out to turn around and soak up whatever comfort Daryan is willing to give.

 

•

 

 _Today_ , Klavier thinks as he wakes up, _is the day my brother dies_.

He lies in bed, trying to figure out how to feel about this fact. _Numb_ , he decides. He feels empty. Drained.

A little relieved that he no longer needs to dread this day, and extremely guilty for thinking it.

Vongole greets him with her usual enthusiasm, blissfully unaware of the fact that this is the last day of her previous master’s life. He pats her fondly. Today, she is his dog. They have each other, and that is all.

 _Daryan_ , Klavier thinks without meaning to. His chest tightens and he pushes the name, all the thoughts related to the man, out of his mind the same way he has for the past five years. There’s no point holding onto something he no longer has. He should know this by now.

Except Daryan is there, standing in front of the detention centre, arms folded across his chest and a look in his eyes that reminds Klavier of everything they were. They way Daryan understands him, reads him without needing a single word of communication between them.

“Hey.”

“I thought I told you I didn’t want you here,” Klavier sighs, but he can’t bring himself to push past Daryan and into the building. Not just yet.

“I told you I’m here for you,” Daryan looks away with a shrug, as if he isn’t being incredibly sincere. “I’m here whether you like it or not, man. Because I care. So you can tell yourself whatever you’d like, but now you know.”

“Now I know,” Klavier repeats, and laughs hollowly. “Sure this isn’t pity, Crescend?”

“You know it ain’t,” Daryan replies. There’s the hint of a growl in his voice, and Klavier doesn’t blame him, isn’t even surprised. He knows Daryan like his own hand. They’re both sick of this, of Daryan having to fight to prove himself every single time they see each other and it’s beginning to show. Klavier wonders how long it will take for Daryan to just give up.

“Daryan,” he says again, sounding tired this time. He doesn’t know how to deal with this right now. Not when he needs to go inside and watch his brother die.

“I’ll be here. Right here.” Daryan sounds earnest in a way Klavier hasn’t heard since they were teenagers. “Ain’t like I’m gonna follow you in or anything like that. I’ll just wait here.”

Klavier shuts his eyes, not sure whether to feel irritated or relieved. “I’ll see you, Daryan.”

“Yeah.” Daryan reaches out, as if to touch Klavier’s shoulder, and stops himself, bringing his arm back down to his side. “Uh. Good luck, I guess.”

Klavier smiles mirthlessly and inclines his head. He walks past Daryan, allowing the receptionist to give him her pitying looks and murmurs of condolence. He’s led to a room—a gallery—and he is the only person there. He stands at the large window, peering into the sterile room with the chair sitting in the middle. Kristoph isn’t there yet. Klavier doesn’t want to sit, doesn’t know what to do to pass the time as he _waits_.

The execution itself is a blur. Later, he will try—though not very hard—to recall it, and all he will remember is the look in Kristoph’s eyes when he is led into the room. Calm, almost bored. He looks at Klavier fleetingly, as though he is just any other meaningless decoration in a room he doesn’t care for. He remembers the request for Kristoph’s last words, he remembers them clearly, toneless, _I have nothing to say_.

He retches afterwards, locking himself in a bathroom stall and throwing up everything. There are tears in his eyes, unsure whether they’re from the pain of losing his brother, from the discomfort of vomiting what feels like a week’s worth of food, or from sheer exhaustion. He washes his mouth, stares at himself in the mirror and thanks whatever deity is listening for the fact that he’d cut his hair short long ago, no longer wearing his hair in the drill that had been inspired his brother—the way so many things in his life had been.

Daryan is still standing exactly where he’d been before. His face is lined with worry, his body tense the way it is before a performance, before going into the field on a job, ready to act the moment he gets his cue. Klavier, too tired to pretend, gives him his cue. He stumbles forward, arms reaching out.

“Daryan.”

“Right here.” Daryan’s voice is soft. His hands are warm on Klavier’s sides. His eyes are blue-grey and Klavier wonders when he’d last taken the time to look into them. Probably long before Daryan had been arrested.

Without warning, Klavier hits Daryan in the shoulder. It isn’t a very hard blow, but it catches him by surprise all the same.

“ _Fuck you_ , Daryan, why did you both have to ruin my life?” Klavier growls. “When I—when Kristoph was first arrested, I thought that at least I had you. At least I could rely on you. But you couldn’t just let me do that, could you? You… you…”

“I fucked up,” Daryan says without the slightest bit of hesitation. “I was an idiot and I hate what I did to you. Every single day, Klavier.”

“Stop saying things I want to hear,” Klavier snaps, shaking his head.

Daryan sighs, glancing around them and taking Klavier by the elbow, leading him to the small car park at the side of the building. “Come on. I’m taking you home. Then we can talk.”

“I’m not going anywhere—”

“Shut up, Gavin,” Daryan snarls, “and get in the fucking car. We’re going to talk and we’re going to do it right the fuck now. Understood?”

They drive to Daryan’s place in stony silence, neither of them even looking at each other until they’re inside, the door shut behind them. Daryan is the one who breaks the silence, folding his arms across his chest and levelling Klavier with a look that makes him feel like he is being stripped bare.

“I’m so fucking sick of this,” Daryan says, but he’s not yelling the way that Klavier is used to. His voice is low and cold, and it scares Klavier because he doesn’t know how to deal with it. “I don’t know how many hoops you want me to jump through to fix things, Gavin, but I’m just about ready to give up.”

Daryan doesn’t mean it. Logically, Klavier _knows_ this, but it doesn’t stop the rising panic. “You can’t.”

“What was that?” Daryan asks, raising an eyebrow.

Klavier frowns. “Damn it, Daryan, I’m trying too damn hard to get over everything—to fix this—to have you just _give up_.”

“Right, of course everything’s about you,” Daryan snaps, taking a step closer to Klavier, crowding into his space and scowling at him. “Always has been, hasn’t it? Don’t worry that I saved Xander’s life or anything, because I fucking let you down. Nothing worse in the world than _that_.”

Klavier gives Daryan a rough shove in the chest, making him stumble two steps backwards. He’s been through far too much already today to be able to handle Daryan yelling at him. “You need to stop thinking you’re some goddamned _hero_ for what you’ve done. You didn’t get sent to prison for five years because you did something _good_.”

“Fuck you—” Daryan grabs Klavier by the front of his shirt, winding his arm back, but it’s Klavier who throws the first punch; he sends his fist into Daryan’s stomach, winding him for just long enough to wriggle out of his grasp.

“I hate you so much, sometimes,” Klavier says, and he tries to ignore the way his words make Daryan flinch. “I’m trying so hard to get over everything so we can move on, but—”

“But _what_?” Daryan asks, and now he does sound angry. He grabs Klavier by the upper arm, pulling him close once again. “What the fuck do I have to do to fix this, Gavin? Because it sure as hell feels like you’re waiting on _me_ to just say some magic words and fix this, considering you ain’t doing anything about it.”

Something snaps inside of Klavier and Daryan can see it. His eyes go hard, his entire face a mask of fury as he lashes out at Daryan, punching him across the face. This is nothing like the Klavier who throws a few angry words when he isn’t getting his way. This is pure anger, and Daryan has no idea what to do, because for as long as he’s known Klavier, he’s never seen this.

“You don’t think I’m doing anything about it?” Klavier asks, his voice filled with rage. “You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to get back to normal for the past five years, in one way or another. If you think that I don’t _want_ to fix things between us, if you think that seeing you regularly makes it any _easier_ for me… you really don’t know me, do you Daryan?”

“Klavier…” Daryan can see the sheen of tears in Klavier’s eyes and he’s seen _this_ enough times to know that if he doesn’t do something right now, he’s going to regret it later. He takes a step closer and Klavier blinks furiously, trying to will the tears away. It doesn’t work. Klavier doesn’t flinch when Daryan carefully cups his cheek with a hand—he simply looks weary. Daryan sighs and bows his head, so their noses are almost touching. “Klavier, I’m sorry. I’d never hurt you on purpose, you _know_ that. Give me a chance, and I’ll never do it again. And if you don’t want to… look, I’ll leave you alone if that’s going to make you feel better. I’ll stay out of your life and we can just pretend—”

“No,” Klavier interrupts, gripping onto Daryan’s arm so tightly that he flinches. Looking into Daryan’s eyes with a look of determination, he repeats, “No. I’m not letting you go anywhere, Daryan. Damn it…”

He starts tearing up then and cuts himself off, bowing his head to hide his face. Daryan places a hand on Klavier’s back, his touch light and cautious as he wraps his arms around his friend. Klavier leans into him, burying his face in Daryan’s shoulder, arms going around to hold him in return.

“I try so hard,” Klavier’s gasping sobs are quiet, and his voice is barely louder than a whisper. “I _try_ to hate you Daryan, but I just… can’t. I must have hated you at some point, four or five years ago, but now? I just miss you.”

“Well,” Daryan smiles cautiously. “Likewise, man.”

Klavier chuckles quietly and leans into Daryan once again. “Good. I’m sorry if I hit you too hard.”

“Don’t apologise,” Daryan’s reply is immediate. “Don’t ever apologise to me, man.”

Klavier smiles, the briefest flash of teeth, and then he’s leaning into Daryan, pressing their lips together. Daryan makes a muffled sound of surprise before kissing back, holding the sides of Klavier’s face. Klavier sucks on Daryan’s lower lip, making him moan softly. Their tongues slide against each other and Daryan pulls away, resting his forehead against Klavier’s.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Klavier chuckles. “I had hoped that much was obvious.”

With a grin, Daryan tighens his grip on Klavier, kissing him harder this time. “Fuck, I _really_ missed you.”

“Good.” Klavier splays his hand across Daryan’s chest, gasping when he feels the gentle scrape of teeth against his neck.

Daryan snickers, his hands settling on Klavier’s hips. Klavier looks at him, eyes dark with years’ worth of pent up desire, licking his lips before leaning in, demanding another kiss.

“ _Yes_ ,” Klavier breathes as Daryan’s hands slide beneath his shirt, but then Daryan pulls back and he frowns with confusion.

“Klavier,” Daryan’s frowning too, but he looks concerned. His hands are still warm against Klavier’s sides. “How much weight have you lost?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Klavier replies, face heating with impatience and embarrassment. “Come on, Daryan—”

“You look so exhausted,” Daryan murmurs, like he’s only looking at Klavier for the first time. He runs his fingers along Klavier’s cheek. “Man, I’m serious. There’s bags under your eyes and everything. Did you even sleep last night?”

“ _Daryan_ ,” Klavier protests, because it’s a lot easier than talking about how he hasn’t eaten or slept properly in weeks. “Just—”

“You’re getting some rest,” Daryan decides, taking a step back.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t want me?” Klavier asks, which he knows it’s not—he’d just felt the evidence to the contrary—and he knows that he’s pouting, like they’re both still in their early twenties and arguing over something trivial.

“I do. I fucking _do_ ,” Daryan growls, grabbing Klavier’s hand and glaring at him. “But I want you to take care of yourself more than that.”

“Fuck you, Crescend, why do you have to pick _now_ of all times to be a nice guy?”

Daryan grins, “Couldn’t pick a _good_ time now, could I? That wouldn’t be me. I’m taking you home. We’ll continue this later and that’s a promise.”

“One I fully intend on holding you to,” Klavier says, trying to sound irritated, but he’s smiling as he follows Daryan back out to the car, going to his house.

Vongole greets them cheerfully and as Klavier is steered straight to the bed, he reluctantly admits to himself that he _is_ incredibly tired. He yawns, and then laughs as Daryan attempts to tuck him into bed, losing his patience with the extra pillows on the bed and dumping them on the floor.

“Do I get a kiss good night?”

“You’ll get as many as you want if you promise to never use cheesy lines like that again,” Daryan replies, kissing Klavier’s forehead and then his lips. “Sleep tight, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Klavier mumbles sleepily, a smile tugging at his lips as his eyelids grow heavily. He rolls onto his side, curling up under the covers and gives in to the exhaustion.

As drained as he is, he still manages to notice that Daryan doesn’t leave until he’s fully asleep.

 

•

 

##    
_Six._   


Daryan is at work the next day, in the best mood he’s been in for a very long time, when someone approaches his desk, clearing their throat.

He looks up, recognising Detective Ema Skye, who had joined the police a few years after he had. He knows that she works with Klavier on a regular basis and nods in greeting. “Hey. You need something?”

“I just wanted to ask…” she says, clearing her throat and folding her arms across her chest, “I haven’t heard anything from Mr. Gavin today. He hasn’t called in sick and didn’t reply when I called him on any of his numbers. You’re friends with him, aren’t you?”

Daryan frowns. “You haven’t gotten anything?”

“No.” Ema shrugs casually. “Not that I actually _care_ or anything—it’s just inconvenient, that’s all. I have work to do, you know.”

Daryan’s already taking his phone out, calling Klavier’s number. He receives no reply and frowns in thought. “I’m going to go check on him, okay? Tell Gumshoe that I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Daryan goes over the possibilities as he goes down to the car park and gets into his car. Klavier isn’t the type of person to take a sick day without letting as many people know as possible—or at least the detective he’s working on a case with, because he takes his job incredibly seriously, no matter what. He wouldn’t be surprised if the events of the previous day have finally caught up to Klavier—if he’d woken up to the thought that Kristoph was actually _dead_ and just couldn’t deal with it. He just hates himself a little for the fact that he hadn’t stayed at Klavier’s place. The thought had occurred to him, once Klavier was breathing deeply and his expression had finally relaxed, and it had been extremely tempting, but Daryan had decided to give him space—now, he wonders if that had been the best idea.

Klavier is the most dramatic person he knows. He’s usually fairly predictable and reliable, but never when he’s depressed, which means that right now…

Daryan shakes his head furiously, pushing it out of his mind. He’ll just have to get to Klavier’s house and see what’s going on for himself.

The door is unlocked, which Daryan decides might be a good sign. He’d left it locked last night, which means that Klavier must have unlocked it himself. He pushes it open, calling out, but receives no reply.

“Where are you, man?” he asks, shutting the door behind him, stepping further into the house. He checks the lounge room, but there’s nobody there. He hears a faint cough and turns, immediately going to Klavier’s bedroom.

He’s there, almost exactly as Daryan had left him, except he’s dressed himself for the work day and then apparently collapsed back in bed.

“Klavier?” he frowns, stepping forward, brushing Klavier’s hair out of his eyes and swearing at how hot his forehead is.

Klavier opens his eyes blearily, but doesn’t seem to notice anything he looks at. He makes a muffled sound, so quiet that Daryan barely hears it from this close. Daryan runs his fingers through the blond hair again, taking his phone out with his free hand and dialling work.

“Hey sir,” he greets when Gumshoe answers. “Just went to Klavier’s place to check on him. Detective Skye told me he didn’t show up to work and he’s here—he looks sick. He’s probably exhausted himself or something.”

“Prosecutor Gavin?” Gumshoe hums in thought, “Well, Mr. Edgeworth told me that you two have something going on. I’ll leave you to take care of him, okay?”

“Thanks.” Daryan hangs up, then looks back at Klavier.

“Right, man, let’s get you to a doctor.”

Klavier’s fever is a result of being far too stressed and neglecting himself. Daryan’s seen it before, when they’d been working on a new album and Klavier would focus on nothing else than getting the tracks finished and ready. There’s not much to do than make sure Klavier gets the rest he needs, so Daryan takes him home, making sure he’s tucked back into bed comfortably.

“You take care of him,” he says to Vongole, “and I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

He arranges a week off from work, letting the Prosecutor’s Office know that Klavier will be out of commission as well, and moves some of his belongings into the guest room of Klavier’s house. He takes Sophie with him, both surprised and relieved when she and Vongole barely react to each other. Vongole follows Sophie around curiously for a while, giving up when Sophie manages to climb a bookshelf and settles there like she owns the place, blithely ignoring him.

“Don’t worry, she does that to me too,” Daryan mutters, scratching Vongole behind the ears before going to check on Klavier.

“Daryan,” Klavier mumbles, eyes still shut and his brows drawn together. He reaches out and Daryan takes his hand, brushing his lips against the bony knuckles. Klavier looks uncomfortable, and even his hand is far too hot to the touch.

“I’m right here,” Daryan whispers, but Klavier doesn’t let go until they’re both lying side by side in the large bed.

“Stay with me,” Klavier says, his eyes still shut though his frown is easing. Daryan wraps an arm around Klavier, only meant to be reassuring contact, but falls asleep before he even realises.

Klavier’s much more lucid when they wake. Daryan wakes to the feeling of Klavier shifting in his arms and opens his eyes immediately to the sight of a wonderfully familiar smile.

“Your cat is sleeping on the foot of my bed,” Klavier points out and Daryan lifts his head to look. Sophie blinks calmly back at him from where she’s curled up on top of the covers, in the space between their legs.

“Well, if you’re going to take issue with that, instead of me being in your bed…” Daryan shrugs.

Klavier smirks, “I’d have more of an issue with it if you _weren’t_.”

He leans down to kiss Daryan, who kisses him back with plenty of passion, but then pulls back. “Now Princess, I know you like getting what you want, but you still look way too tired.”

“Shut up, Sharky. I’m perfectly fine—”

“You remember when we were working on _Gunna Lock You Up_?” Daryan asks with a raised eyebrow. “And you stressed yourself out to the point that you couldn’t keep solid food down? I’m not letting that happen again.”

“You pick the worst times to act like a gentleman,” Klavier grumbles.

Daryan snickers, rolling onto his side and nuzzling against Klavier, nibbling on his earlobe. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Your filthy promises are my favourite,” Klavier chuckles, sitting up properly and stretching. “I’m hungry. Do you want anything?”

“You sit right here,” Daryan is already getting out of bed, absently patting Sophie as she stands on the bed. “I’ll get you what you want.”

“Mm, like my own personal maid.”

Daryan flips him off. “Seriously, man? Between you and me, _you’re_ the one more likely to put on a maid outfit.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Daryan is already heading to the kitchen. “Can’t tempt me, Klavier.”

“We’ll see,” Klavier replies with a sly grin.

Thing is, Klavier truly does make an effort to tempt Daryan into bed. Daryan refuses him as gently as possible each time, continuing to take care of Klavier, who can barely walk by himself, and they never talk about it. Another day, another lingering glance, another stab of disappointment and irritation when Daryan turns away and gets back to his work.

Daryan’s moved some of his belongings into the guest room, but he never sleeps there. Every night, he tucks Klavier into bed and crawls in beside him, refusing to do anything more than actually sleep. It’s frustrating, because Klavier _knows_ that Daryan wants him; he’s seen the desire in his eyes, when Daryan thinks he isn’t looking, and it makes no sense.

“What’s the real reason you won’t sleep with me?” Klavier asks, apropos of nothing, one night when Daryan is getting undressed for bed. He sleeps in a pair of old track pants and no shirt, which just serves to leave Klavier all the more frustrated.

Daryan huffs out a short laugh, sliding under the covers. “I’m right here, aren’t I? Been _sleeping_ with you for the past few days.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Klavier’s strength is returning to him as he gets closer to being fully recovered. He rolls onto Daryan, straddling him and spreading his hands out on the smooth, muscled chest that Daryan still works out on a regular basis to maintain. “I know I’m not entirely better just yet, but I’m sure that even if I was completely healthy right now, you would still come up with some sort of excuse.”

Daryan looks away with a loud sigh, which is how Klavier always knows that he’s right.

“Well?” he prompts, and rolls his hips against Daryan’s.

Daryan swears, his hips automatically responding to the movement. His hands come up to hold Klavier’s forearms and his grip is tight. “I’m not sure you really wanna do this, man.”

Klavier laughs with disbelief. “No? Despite the fact that I’ve been suggesting it for the past week or so?”

“Look, Klavier. It’s been _a week_. A week since your brother died.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re using that excuse—”

“ _Listen_ to me,” Daryan’s grip tightens, just for a brief moment. “Every single time we used to fight, or something was wrong back before… we’d just fuck it out of our systems. Look where that got us.”

Klavier laughs disbelievingly. “That was when we were young. We know better now.”

“Do we?” Daryan raises an eyebrow. “This is _unhealthy_ , Klavier. For us, but more importantly, for you. You need some time to sort all this shit out in your head, and I know that because I know you. If we’re gonna do this, we need to figure out how to make sure we don’t fuck up again.”

“I don’t think we will,” Klavier says, but he’s easing off Daryan now, lying on his side, and Daryan decides to take that as a good sign. “We won’t make the same mistakes twice, because we’re too clever for that. Because I love you too much to _let_ us do that.”

Daryan grins, and presses his lips to Klavier’s. “Get some sleep, yeah?”

It takes half of another week before Klavier fully recovers his strength. During this time, there are long periods of silence where he sits by himself, guitar in his hands, staring into space. Daryan knows to leave him alone then, because he knows what Klavier’s thinking about. If Klavier returns with traces of tears on his cheeks, Daryan kisses him but never comments.

Klavier stops propositioning Daryan at every opportunity he gets, and it’s much easier for both of them this way. They lie in each other’s arms at night for hours, talking until they fall asleep, and it feels like they’re rediscovering how to be friends before they try to be lovers again.

Then, once Klavier’s recovered and Daryan’s spending his last night at the house before heading back to his own, Klavier straddles Daryan and kisses him hard, his intentions clear in his eyes. He doesn’t even realise he’s holding his breath in anticipation until he releases it as a relieved sigh when Daryan grins and kisses him back.

“Tonight?” Klavier asks, just to be sure, even though it’s fairly difficult to misinterpret the warm hands slipping beneath his shirt.

“You’re the one who gets to decide that,” Daryan murmurs against his ears. “What do you think?”

Pinning Daryan down to the bed, Klavier rolls his hips in one slow, deliberate motion and smirks wickedly. “Yeah. Tonight.”

 

•

 

When they wake up again the next morning, they’re both exhausted for all the right reasons. Klavier hums contentedly, rolling onto his side and pressing his lips to Daryan’s forehead, the way he used to when they fell asleep beside each other, years ago.

“‘Morning,” Daryan mumbles, not opening his eyes.

“I’ll make the coffee,” Klavier smiles, getting out of bed. He feels much better today, and it has very little to do with the fact that he can feel that his energy’s returned to normal and everything to do with Daryan stretched out in his bed, satiated the same way he is.

They don’t even try to keep their hands off each other; they shower together, they end up grinding against each other on the couch halfway through watching a movie, and Daryan throws Klavier over his shoulder, dumping him on the bed and crawling onto him so they can fuck properly.

Klavier is demanding and needy, as he has always been, and Daryan loves it. He knows exactly what Klavier wants and how to give it to him, relishing the moans he gets in reply. Klavier knows Daryan’s body almost as well as his own and it isn’t long before they’re too exhausted to do anything but lie beside each other, panting for breath.

Daryan’s phone starts ringing when they’re about to drift off to sleep. With a grumble, Daryan reaches over to answer it, frowning at the Caller ID.

“Justice?”

“Hey, Crescend.” Apollo sounds far more sure of himself these days, which Daryan thinks is a nice change. “Just calling to check on Klavier. I heard he was sick.”

“Klavier?” Daryan repeats, looking at the man lying in bed beside him, a content look on his face. “He’s fine. I’m at his place right now.”

Klavier snorts at that, mouthing, _in bed_ , and Daryan whacks him in the shoulder.

“So are you… back together?” Apollo sounds curious, and a little hopeful. Daryan is surprised at the sigh of relief he hears when he confirms it. “I’m glad. He—I think you both need each other.”

“Mhmm,” Daryan replies, non-committal, as he reaches over to stroke his fingers through Klavier’s hair, earning a warm smile.

“Oh! I’m not, uh, interrupting anything am I?”

“No,” Daryan laughs. “Fuck no. I wouldn’t even bother answering the phone if—”

“Yeah,” Apollo says hastily, sounding embarrassed. “Right.”

“Man, I would’ve thought Klavier would have left you with no inhibitions to speak of.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Klavier speaks up, taking the phone from Daryan’s hands and talking to Apollo himself, getting into a short, friendly conversation before finally hanging up.

“Apollo mentioned that Wright and Edgeworth have a new idea to implement in the legal system. This time, it’s more directly related to police practices and the kinds of things you’d be doing. Conducting line-ups and other things,” Klavier says, linking his fingers with Daryan’s. “We’ve got three more days off, including the weekend. We could drop by Wright & Co. later this afternoon and then we’ll have the entire weekend to ourselves.”

“Uh, what are you going to do about Kristoph?” Daryan asks hesitantly; he’s been curious since the execution, but hasn’t known how to bring it up.

“I asked for him to be cremated. I’ll—pick up the ashes when I’m ready. They were kind enough to hold onto them for me.”

Daryan nods, then strokes Klavier’s cheek gently. “You know, whenever you do go to pick them up—”

“I know you’ll be there for me,” Klavier says with a smile, nuzzling into Daryan’s hand. “Which I am glad for. Thank you.”

“I love you,” Daryan says, quietly like it’s a sacred truth. “It actually scares me when I think about just how much.”

“I love you,” Klavier repeats back to him, getting up and looking around for his shirt, finding Daryan’s instead and pulling it on.

“Hey.” Daryan says as a token protest, though he’s already grinning at the sight.

“I haven’t worn your shirts in forever,” Klavier says, thrilled.

“They look different on you now, though,” Daryan observes. Because of the weight Klavier has lost, Daryan’s shirts are no longer tight on him. _Such a pity_ , Daryan thinks, licking his lips absently.

“I’ll wear them all the time if it makes you look at me like _that_ ,” Klavier murmurs, chuckling.

Daryan shakes his head, looking amused. “Come on. Let’s get to Wright’s office before we get sidetracked. Again.”

Daryan drives them there, and the conversation they have with Wright and Edgeworth is brief; they’re still sorting out the idea itself, with Edgeworth coming up with a new training program for detectives and Wright full of suggestions on how to introduce them. Daryan sees through the thinly veiled excuse to check on Klavier after his brother’s execution and he’s sure Klavier does too, from the way he sincerely thanks them both before they leave.

“Got a surprise for you,” Daryan says when they get back into the car, refusing to give Klavier any more details when he is asked. He doesn’t drive back to Klavier’s place, but takes a long, winding route that Klavier finally recognises.

“We’re going to Xander’s place?” he asks, just as they turn into the long driveway.

There are other cars and bikes parked just outside the house and Klavier’s heart skips a beat when he recognises them. “Did you—?”

“Let’s just go in.” Daryan is grinning as he turns the engine off. “Save it for when we’re inside, okay?”

It isn’t exactly a surprise, when Klavier knows what to expect, but this doesn’t make him any less happy to see Xander and the rest of the old members of The Gavinners waiting for them when Daryan leads the way inside.

“It’s been way too long since any of us have seen you,” Ike declares, pulling Klavier into a hug and slapping him on the back. “Crescend organised this on the fly, just for you.”

Klavier turns to Daryan with a brilliant smile. Daryan ducks his head, suddenly very interested in his conversation with Xander.

They catch up on years’ worth of news, enjoying each other’s company the way they all had when they were in the band together. Xander even has his music room set up and they relocate there, jamming for the fun of it, making up new songs off the top of their heads. Klavier comes up with what he warns is his sappiest love song to date, singing directly at Daryan, who doesn’t break eye contact once, grinning as he plays the guitar.

“Thank you,” Klavier says once they’re done playing the song, reaching across and kissing Daryan right there, as the others wolf-whistle.

“Least I could do, man,” Daryan murmurs, squeezing Klavier’s sides and kissing back.

Klavier smiles, realising that despite the amount of pain it took to get here, he’s finally happy now, surrounded by his good friends, with Daryan giving him a look of clear adoration, no longer trapped by all his memories and self-loathing.

And it’s all Daryan needs, to be here together with Klavier again, with Xander alive and well, all of their friends reunited for the first time in years. There’s blood on his hands and there’s no way he’s going to change that, but the way Klavier is looking at him now makes Daryan think that at least he might be able to make up for everything he’s done. If Klavier’s forgiven him, then maybe he can figure out how to forgive himself.

Really, Daryan can’t ask for any more than that.

 

x


End file.
